W-what is this? Content? No way!
CW: The Machine (forced intubation, restraints, force feeding, torture) conditioned whumpee, medical whump (kinda? idk) nb whumpee, noncon drugging.
“You know you’re my favorite tool, don’t you?”
Tool froze, one hand holding a dusting rag. He nodded.
“Do you know why?” The Mechanic was leaning in the doorway grinning coldly. Tool swallowed and straightened their back.
“Because I work. Every time, whatever you need.”
“Exactly,” the Mechanic mused as he stalked closer. They wanted to take a step back, wanted to get away from him but they wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
“Other prototypes didn’t work. They broke, couldn't take the pressure. But you’re perfect for me. Not just some dumb slave, are you? There’s still an analytical mind up there.” He tapped on Tool’s forehead, making them flinch back in surprise.
“Uh, Y-Yes, Sir.”
The Mechanic grinned further. “Good. I’ll give you a chance to prove it.” With that, he turned and promptly left the room. Tool followed, as he knew he was supposed to.
The two wound down the hall, past the den and the large rooms, past the mechanic’s office; past his work room. Tool’s blood went cold. The only thing that was this far down the hallway was, was-
The Machine Room.
The Mechanic had been working the last few days, out of the house. Tool had thought he was simply out of the house, never venturing into the Machine Room if they could help it. The Mechanic strode in as if it was *nothing*. Well, to him it was. Simply another room, filled with equipment that had never hurt *him.*
Tool shook, but they entered.
There was something else in there, something new. It was metal and medical looking, long as the bench and hinged as if it closed. There were straps and tubes, a molded section fit for a human body. Tool froze where they stood.
“I’ve been making an upgraded system,” the Mechanic mused as he surveyed his work proudly. “The other version was *fine,* but it was never what I had envisioned. It was what I settled for, what I thought would be more…. *realistic*. But this? This is what I’ve always had in mind.”
He smiled down at it, as if he were a proud parent. A parent of a monster. With the same cold eyes, he turned his head up to Tool.
“I want you to try it out.”
They took a step back in self-preservation. No, no they had been good, they had behaved. They were shaking, arms wrapped around their waist.
“You said you still had your analytical mind, Tool. I want you to use it. I want to know the differences, the strengths and weaknesses of both machines. I trust that you can do that, can you not?”
Tool was starting to panic. *Please, please please no*.
The Mechanic took their non answer as a yes, and pulled him closer. “You have been good lately, so I’ll administer a sedative for the intubation. See what you can earn through good behaviour? No more nasty bruises in your throat.”
The needle slid into their neck so naturally that Tool barely even felt it. They were shaking, tears pouring down their cheeks. “No” repeated endlessly in their head, fully unbelieving of what was going to happen.
Their legs grew weaker, and they had no choice but to sit on the contraption for support. Clinically, the Mechanic stripped them of their shirt and tight undershirt, as well as their black slacks. They shivered, eyes lidded but mind very much intact.
“A colleague of mine acquired this sedative; well it’s mostly paralytic. Keeps the body still but the mind is still aware. Isn’t that nice? It truly is the best option for things like this.”
Tool choked out another sound as their head slowly lulled back, body starting to feel numb and limp. The Mechanic helped them, easing them down to laying. He leaned over them, brushing back their hair with a self-indulgent smile.
Then he picked up the feeding tube.
Tool closed his eyes, starting to feel distant from everything. He felt the hands that corrected the position of his head, felt rubbed enter a nostril and start its trek down his throat. It hurt, it still always hurt. It pushed at the back of their tongue and inside of their head. It tugged on skin and shook as they breathed.
Without any other option, Tool swallowed to help it along.
They didn’t open their eyes again, not while the Mechanic fussed and mused with the machine, not when he inserted the ventilator into their chest. Only when their hands were pinned down, only when the electrodes were stuck to their arms and biceps did they look up again.
He was smiling.
“There’s some new features on this one, isn’t that nice? Like I said, I want you to pay attention, Tool. I want you to be able to describe the differences and similarities. I want a full analysis, understood?”
Tool didn’t try to nod, didn’t acknowledge him. Their eyes slipped closed.
A hum, a sound of footsteps, and typing. Then another noise, one that hadn’t been in the haunting nightmares that plagued them. Hydraulic pistons. Tool’s eyes shot open, glancing around to try and find the source.
*The hatch was closing.*
As if it was once again the first time, Tool struggled. He attempted to fight, to pull his wrists and ankles from the restraints and his back off the table. He bit at the mouthguard, pushed against the tubes in his chest. The hatch was closing, it was closing him in.
And like the first time, he failed.
It was dark. Small. Cramped. There was no space to move, a weight pressing in from all sides. There was something new to the horror of it, the terror of being so wholly trapped. It was like being buried alive by metal and machinery. Even if something were to loosen, even if the straps were to give, Tool would have no chance of pressing the lid open.
Not only that, but there was something else. Sound. A low buzz next to Tool’s left ear. It was monotonous and even, never pausing or breaking. They wanted to panic, wanted to feel something, but all they could focus on was the buzzing. There was nothing, nothing else in his hell but pain and the buzz.
Then it moved. It snapped to their right, flickering intermittently.
Tool couldn’t focus, couldn’t relax. The pattern was fully random, never repeating. It would stay for hours in one ear, switch to the other for only a brief moment before it returned. It would come in short blips, it would change pitch.
There would be silence for hours at a time.
Tool was exhausted, brain desperately trying to find stability in something, in one singular thing, but it was denied even that comfort again and again.
Just as it seemed the buzzing could be ignored, could be accepted, white light pierced through their eyelids. Tool whimpered - or tired to - and strained to roll his head to the side, but it was in vain.
It was hell.
This was hell.
@unicornscotty @as-a-matter-of-whump @starnight-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-it @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @valkyrie-whump @cupcakes-and-pain @whole-and-apart-and-between @misspelledwitch @fanmanga1357-blog @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @just-a-raccoon-in-a-party-hat @blackrosesandwhump @panic-and-chaos
58 notes · View notes